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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27926713">5 times she kept dancing + 1 time she stopped</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellarree/pseuds/ellarree'>ellarree</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera &amp; Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Createcember 2020, During Canon, Gen, Headcanon: meg killed herself after LND, Hurt No Comfort, I didn’t write an outline, I keep making new rewrites of these scenes, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Meg Giry–centric, Mental Health Issues, Missing Scene, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Canon, Sad Ending, Unhappy Ending, and also, but this went way differently in my head, i feel like i write everything in third person limited lmao</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:54:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27926713</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellarree/pseuds/ellarree</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Christine left, Meg kept dancing... until she didn’t.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Written in 5+1 things format.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Christine Daaé/Meg Giry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>5 times she kept dancing + 1 time she stopped</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>written for day 06 of my createcember challenge. prompt: Grief.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Layered tulle flares out around a twirling girl, forming a dizzying blur in the rehearsal room. Though a smile is plastered firmly on her face, it stops before reaching her eyes. The ballerina finds no true joy in dancing, not anymore, but it still serves as a welcome distraction.</p>
<hr/>
<p>A duffel bag swings in time with her footsteps as she skips along the stony streets, heading toward a boat. Two black-clad figures trail behind her at a more leisurely pace. Her exuberance is not due to any excitement, merely a deeply ingrained habit.</p>
<hr/>
<p>A muffled thump can be heard as a dancer tries, over and over again, to spin in place within the cramped, swaying room onboard a ship, and, over and over again, falls to the floor. This practice does more harm than good, but she feels entirely empty without it. The ship is taking her away from France but her former life still grips her muscles with a million thin tendrils of memory. Her mind yearns to forget, her body refuses to let go, and her heart is left behind in Paris.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The high, piercing wail of a violin surrounds her as she kicks and whirls flirtatiously, music and beauty combining to infuse the very air of this unfamiliar auditorium. Song wraps around her, masterfully played, but she only half-hears it, too overcome with the memories of floating across a different stage back in Paris.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Fuchsia feathers and inhuman skulls drape across her body as she exhibits a perfect rendition of each motion, rehearsed a thousand times until her uninterested mind is no longer necessary for success. She cannot recall ever before feeling no joy during the premiere of a new show, and yet here she is.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Her steps thud heavily on the boardwalk of Coney Island, all rhythm lost in place of a singular goal at the end of her dreams. In a final attempt to recover some of her youthful enthusiasm, she is wearing the same dress as earlier that summer. The dress which she wore when reuniting with old friends, when she felt true glee in dancing for a brief moment — no more than two spins, grasped in the arms of her once-companion — for the first time in over ten years. The world twists and twirls around her in a mockery of her empty passion, and every step falls flat, devoid of music or art. Her final words are set to a familiar tune, though they aren’t sung. It is a melody that she has performed on stage five times every day for months on end, a melody that she can attune in her sleep. A dying songbird brings forth glorious tragedy in lovingly gifted swan song, but the dancer’s figure only falls weakly off the edge of the pier, her mind at last concluded with its prolonged grief. Meg Giry does not dance to her grave, but those precise motions lost all meaning to her a decade ago when she first lost Christine Daaé.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>kinda want to redo this so that it incorporates the 5 stages of grief, but i don’t remember all of them off the top of my head and I’m too lazy to look them up</p></blockquote></div></div>
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